Forgive Me
by Nightfury991
Summary: He remembered. He never forgot. But now, in death, he will ask for forgiveness.


He knew he was dying.

Well, _again_.

Even though you can only die once.

But it felt like he was dying all over again.

It didn't matter, though.

He just needed to see _him._

Just one last time.

He barely escaped the fire; the flames licked the remanence of the suit, the odd wire smoldering, but he made it.

He wasn't going to get finished off by that _damn_ Puppet. No…He wasn't going down like that.

He got away as the building burned to the ground, before the police arrived on the scene. They would scavenge the smoldering rubble, but all they would find was a burnt metal arm with a hook at the end, ruined and smoked masks, and a blackened, melted security badge.

Cheap-ass plastic…

The rain had juddered the spring locks, but he carried on; limping away, climbing over a wall. He had crumpled to the ground on the other side.

If he had bones left, that would've resulted in a broken rib or two.

He hobbled away, and the rain only got heavier; soaking into the remains of the suit, weighing him down ever so slightly.

Before the sun had even broke over the horizon, he felt that feeling again.

Death's cold embrace, wrapping around what remained of his soul.

He couldn't fight it much longer.

B…But he had one… _one_ last thing…h-he needed to do.

A grunt of pain passed the shattered teeth as he crumpled to one knee, digging into the soaked dirt, closed fist pressed against the old, grey walls; darkened slightly by the rain.

Labored, shabby breaths passed the crooked, hanging jaw, as ghostly white eyes jittered and his head shook, rain trickling down the side of the head.

The eyes shook up; even in the darkened sky, his fractured mind could make out words.

 _G..G-R-R..A..VE…Y…_

The word couldn't form in his mind, but he understood them.

A jagged sign, guarded by two iron angels, gave way to where he had arrived.

This _had_ to be the one…

The Fazbear name was born and breed in this part of the country.

He was born here. He had hoped to be buried here…

Sadly, _he_ wasn't given that gift.

Finding the strength to get to his feet again, he staggered forward, through the open gate, stumbling half on the pre-set path, half on the rain-soaked mud.

 _Now…wh-here was it?_

He stumbled pass several tomb stones; some missing chunks of stone after years of marking the deceased, others withstanding the test of time.

Most names were just a blur to his hazed mind, his fractured gaze barely making any sense of them.

But he made out _one._

The one he was looking for.

It stopped him dead in his tracks, his hold body swaying slightly as the rain pelted his body, soaking the dried blood that lay beneath.

Thinned blood trickled down his hanging hand, dripping from the extended finger and mixing with the mud.

His eyes were focused on the small stone, as he slowly limped across the grass and mounds of earth, stumbling over one large pile.

He eventually tripped and fell to his hands and knees, wheezing loudly as he coughed; loud, chesty coughs, thinned blood dripping from the cracked jawline.

But he carried on, crawling across the dirt and mud; the open palms sunk into the mud, and he strained to pull each hand free before continuing.

Finally, feeling as though he had expended all of his remaining strength, he had reached it.

The child death _he_ didn't cause.

Withered by time and weather, the words were faint on the stone; even though he had seen them at a distance, they were almost a blur now.

He raised a mud-soaked hand, trying to extend it forward and open it; but all it wanted to do was curl up on itself.

' _F…Focus…'_ he wheezed to himself, eyes closing partly as he concentrated.

Slowly, the withered, broken hand, the shaking turning more violent as time passed, pried open; three fingers mostly intact, but the ring finger completely ripped off and lost somewhere in the burning rubble.

Shaking in the rain, the open hand lowered and lowered until it rested on the curved top of the old stone.

 _MICHAEL FARRAN_

 _1978 – 1983_

 _SON, BROTHER, ANGEL_

' _S…S-Son…'_ he whispered hoarsely, the hand resting on the stone trailing down the front, fingers leaving dirt and blood stains trickling down the name of the deceased.

' _M…my a-actions…w…were…fo…f-for y…y-y-you…'_ he wheezed out, a hacking cough breaking through. More blood came from his jaw, staining the already-ruined teeth.

His other arm gave way, forcing him to collapse into the mud, the palm against the erect stone shuddering violently.

His white eyes flickered slightly, as the body shook as a whole.

Death was clutching his soul, squeezing the last of life from his rotten corpse.

This was it.

With what strength he had left, Vincent…or what others had come to know him as…

Springtrap, pressed his hand against the dirt, curling the fingers into the mud, and pushed against the ground.

Wheezing, and with one eye flickering before going out altogether, he faulted slightly, Death trying to claim him quicker. But he pressed down harder, eventually succeeding in flipping onto his back, rolling onto the ground beside the grave.

' _F…Forgive…m…m-e…'_

If he still had his tear ducts, tears would've streaked the animatronic's cheeks. But he had used the last of his tears during his bloodied death.

' _S…Son….'_

With the final word on his final breath, Springtrap's body, with Vincent's body forever trapped inside, sagged against the ground, the remaining eye flickering before slowly fading.

The last breath of life leaving him, and Death ripping him from reality.

Morning would soon break, revealing the withered, dark yellow/gold, rot covered rabbit suit, who many would recognize as the Animatronic known as 'SpringTrap' from the close-by Fazbear's Fright, which would also be discovered as nothing more than a burning mess.

Behind the walls of the graveyard, where Father and Son were finally laid to rest, side-by-side, a small mask peeked over the wall.

Purple streaks down its cheek, and the top of rosy cheeks visible.

" _It's finally over…The Nightmare ends…"_ a soft voice spoke, the mask turning slightly as its eyes rested on the body resting beside the grave.

But he didn't see a father beside his son.

What he _did_ see, was friends, torn apart by murder, insanity and time, reunited in death.


End file.
